


Wasted Breath

by peachycans



Series: RvB Oneshots [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: American frontier au, M/M, Minor Violence, Side Lolix, Side Tuckington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachycans/pseuds/peachycans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick Simmons is a rancher who's only ambition is to sell his crops and make enough cash to get by. But when his friend Donut takes him for a few drinks at the local saloon, Simmons gains the attention of some locals that he will never forget; as well as undesirables who have a tight agenda.</p><p>Saddle up cowboys, and get ready for a story about Texas, 1809; the American Frontier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

“Common, Simmons! You’re telling me you’d rather finish building that stupid fence instead of going out into town with me tonight?” Donut shrieked, placing both hands on his hips and glaring down at the rancher with a distasteful look.

Simmons sighed from his position on the ground, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair. The sun was already beginning to set off in the horizon; the outlines of mountains and cactus glowed in the bright light.

He glared at Donut. “You know I don’t drink. Besides, that place is crawling with arrogant gunmen and tarts.”

“It is _not!_ There are some good people there!” Donut retaliated, growing restless. He didn’t have time for arguments.

“I said no, Donut.” Simmons shook his head, pointedly ignoring the younger man next to him and instead going back to his construction work.

Donut scowled. “Fine. So that’s how it’s gonna be?” 

Simmons heard Donut shuffle around next to him. Assuming that he was finally leaving him alone, the rancher continued to work. Suddenly fingers pinched his ear, yanking him up off of the ground. Simmons shrieked, pulling away from Donut’s intense grip. But the other man was one step ahead of him, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him inside.

The younger man huffed. “You’re going to get changed, and you are going out whether you like it or not. You need human interaction!”

As soon as they were inside Donut let go of Simmons, pushing him in the direction of his room. “Get in there and put on something nice. I promise that if you hang around the bar for two hours or so, I’ll bring you to that shop with the journal collection you always liked.”

“Okay, geez!” The red-head grumbled, rubbing his neck and slamming the bedroom door behind him. 

For his neighbor, Donut sure was a riot. They’d met when Simmons had first opened up his ranch next to his. The red-head had originally thought they would hate each other since they both owned separate ranches on top of each other. But as soon as Simmons had heard a knock on his door the day after his arrival and the bright, bubbly blonde greeted him on his porch with a basket full of trinkets and pastries, Simmons knew that they would be spending a lot more time around each other. 

Simmons’ ranch got a lot less business than Donut’s did, but he didn’t care all that much. Whenever he had to go a few days without something because of his money being tight, Donut had always been there for him, and whatever he’d needed was offered in his small hands. 

A few minutes later Simmons came out wearing a faded maroon dress shirt and jeans that were tucked into the boots he’d been wearing before. Donut sprang up off of the wooden chair outside excitedly as soon as he saw the red-head approaching, dragging him over to the horse pen to head to the local saloon.

When the center of town came into view, Simmons glanced over at Donut on his prized white horse. “I swear to fucking god if you try setting me up with anyone while we’re there, I _will_ kill you.”

Donut clicked his tongue, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. “I can’t make any promises.”

Simmons growled lowly, choosing not to speak again until they got to the bar. When they’d finally arrived, Donut gestured to where Simmons could tie his brown horse with his own, and they went inside two small doors with a large label reading, ‘Saloon’ above their heads.

They sat down at two free seats in front of the counter, Donut ordering one of his favorite ‘girly drinks’ while Simmons asked for a glass of water. The man came back with Donut’s request, but gave Simmons a small bottle of liquor instead.

Simmons opened his mouth to voice the man’s mistake, but closed it as soon as the bartender leaned over the table. The red-head took the brief moment to quickly inspect the older man’s scruffy face. A scar ran down his cheek and his grey hair was cropped on top of his head.

“Just take it, son. It looks like ya need it.” The man nodded to him before getting an order called over by another patron.

The red-head stared at the bottle in confusion, the lid already pulled off for him. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, so he decided to continue staring at it as if it had come to life.

Donut noticed Simmons’ puzzlement; he put down his glass and poked Simmons’ arm. “That’s Sarge. He owns the place, and he’s a genius at guessing people’s orders and getting them what drinks they need. I think you should take it.”

“Okay, I guess…” Simmons said quietly, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a cautious sip. The liquid left a burning sensation in his throat, but the taste wasn’t entirely bad.

“Do you…” Simmons began to ask, taking another small sip before placing it on the counter again. “Do you know everyone around here?”

The younger man grinned, “Hell yeah. Well, not _everyone_. But the guy over there,” Donut pointed to a dark-skinned man working behind the counter, shadowing Sarge, “That’s Lopez. He works under Sarge’s wing here and as a wood carpenter on his days off. 

“And those ladies,” This time Donut gestured to two women; one wore a long plain dress with blue ties and accents. The other was in a much shorter dress, her corset pulled tight around her waist. She was sitting on a table, chatting up the man sitting there with a devilish grin. “Is Kimball and Carolina. Kimball is here almost every day. She helps wait tables, but only part-time. And Carolina is a con that usually likes to butter up all of the heated drunks in here and take their money when they’re not looking. Although she’s actually really nice once you get to know her.”

Simmons finished up his first beer quickly as Donut talked. He almost knocked it over with his elbow when the empty glass was put down and then taken to be thrown away by Lopez.

“…He’s so lame at times.” Simmons realized Donut was still talking about the people he knew, and tried to focus again. 

Although it didn’t last more than a few moments, as someone gently grabbed Simmons’ arm from behind and spun him around on his stool, “And that over there is…” Donut continued, pausing when he noticed who had gained Simmons’ attention.

Donut smiled brightly, “Tucker! How are you doing tonight?” The blonde asked, raising his glass.

“Pretty good, man. Who’s the new guy?” Tucker asked, looking back at Simmons and lightly flicking his nose.

“Oh, this is Simmons!” Donut put a hand on the sputtering man’s shoulder. “He’s my neighbor slash good friend. _Really_ good friend!

Simmons’ cheeks dusted a light pink when he saw the sly grin on Tucker’s face. “Not _that_ kind of friend!”

The dark-skinned man laughed in response, waving to Lopez behind the counter, “Hey man, don’t ask, don’t tell. Another round over here, Lopez!” He requested happily.

Lopez came back over with two beers larger than the last one Simmons had, placing them on the counter. “Aquí. Y no estoy limpiando de su vómito esta vez cuando haz apedreado.” _[Here. And I'm not cleaning up your vomit this time when you get stoned.]_

“I know Lopez, he really needs this.” Donut said in response. Lopez sighed heavily, trying to put as much space between him and the others as he could.

A few hours later, Simmons forgot about Donut’s promise to him. Overall, he’d forgotten about almost everything.

Before his mind had been blinded, Simmons had met a few more people. Two men joined him and Tucker after their third round of beers. One was a short man with black hair named Church, and the other a beefy kid with the mind of a child. He had been friendly, but really only paid attention to Church.

Another man had appeared later on in the night that went by the name Wash. Tucker, just a little bit more than buzzed than Simmons, kept trying to slip his hands into the man’s pants as he took him home for the night.

Donut had left before Tucker. He hadn’t even gotten tipsy before finding an attractive stud and offering him a service. Just a bit disgusted, Simmons had turned back around and ordered another round.

By Simmons’ guess, it was almost eleven when he’d decided he wanted to go home.

Sarge had come by a few times when he’d been alone, offering up conversation about their occupations before dropping it when he realized just how drunk Simmons was.

The red-head stood from his stool, but made it a step forward before tipping over and falling onto the hardwood floor of the saloon. Simmons began to giggle uncontrollably, laughing harder when he couldn’t even muster up the strength to stand.

“Um… Are you okay?”

After hearing the new voice, Simmons craned his head up and noticed a man he hadn’t met standing above him, a bottle of rum in his hand and a bored expression on his face. He had long, curly black hair and a tan complexion.

Simmons’ face flushed with giddiness, letting out a few more giggles before grabbing hold of the counter and pulling himself up into a kneel, “Oh, yeah.” He said slyly, poking the man’s chest. “I especially am now, mister…”

The man rolled his eyes in response, but couldn’t help but smirk, “It’s Grif. Yeah, you’re drunk. Maybe you should go to one of the booths over there and sleep.” He pointed to a polished table booth across the room.

Simmons smirked, adjusting the glasses on his face and stumbling over to the table. He plopped down onto it, grabbing one of the empty bottles off of the table and trying to drink it. When he realized there was nothing left in it, Simmons resorting to sucking on the rim.

“Yeah, okay, no.” Grif said, taking the slimy bottle from Simmons’ hands and tossing it in a pale behind the counter. He looked back down at Simmons when the red-head squeezed his arm.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Simmons said, his face still flushed from the alcohol running through his veins, blood pumping under his skin.

“Sure, you’re in love with me.” Grif shook his head, “If you remember anything in the morning, _then_ come and talk to me.” He said jokingly, walking away and pushing one of the bar doors open. “Just stay there and sleep. Goodnight, drunk-guy.”

With that, he was gone. It only took Simmons a few moments to fall asleep afterwards.

*****

“I’ve tried everythin’! Ah can’t imagine how hungover he’ll be when he finally wakes up…”

“Sólo le tomó cuatro bebidas para embriagarse oficialmente. Y él tenía más que nueve.” _[It only took him four drinks to get officially drunk. And he had nine more after that.]_

“Yer right Lopez, I shoulda kicked him out instead of lettin’ him spend the night!”

“I think the more important question is why you allowed him to have that many drinks when you knew what state he was in.”

“He needed it. Letta kid live.”

Simmons groaned from the ear-splitting sound of people talking nearby. He rolled on his side in the booth and tried opening his eyes, cursing under his breath at the intensity of the light. After a moment he made another effort to see, trying to blink away the pain frantically.

“Well-well, look who’s finally awake. Hey wait a minute… I think I saw him sitting next to Tucker when I picked him up. What’s his name?”

“Simmons. He came here with Donut last night before the pastry-dish ditched him for a fun time somewhere else.”

“Oh gross. Too much information, Sarge.”

Simmons sat up and immediately regretted the decision. The headache he had lying down increased tenfold. He groaned and held his head.

“Okay then… Simmons.” The red-head heard footsteps approaching. Someone kneeled down next to him, placing their hand on his shoulder. The man was fuzzy-looking, but Simmons could make out the glass of water handed to him when it got close enough. He took the water gratefully, sipping it while grabbing his glasses off of the table in front of him.

When Simmons pushed the lenses up his nose, he groaned from another intense throb in the back of his head. He started to drink the water in larger gulps. 

He looked up at the man who had given him the water previously, recognizing him as the person who had taken Tucker home. Must have been his boyfriend. He had short blonde hair underneath the hat he wore, and a leather vest hung over his yellow and grey dress shirt.

“Wash, right?” Simmons croaked, squinting his eyes towards the man in question. 

Wash smirked, reaching his hand forward. “That’s right. Pleasure to meet you, Simmons.”

The red-head took the offer, shaking the man’s hand quickly before going back to drinking the rest of his water.

Sarge approached soon after, sitting down in one of the chairs next to Simmons. “Ya remember anythin’, Simmons?”

Simmons searched his memories quickly, pulling back everything he could, “Yeah… I met a lot of people. Tucker… Church… Caboose… Donut left…” He paused. “Sort-of Wash. And Donut pointed out two people to me, Carolina and Kimball.”

Sarge nodded, gesturing with his head. “Kimball’s in the backroom getting things ready fer today’s work. You can officially meet ‘er when she comes back out. Anythin’ else?”

Simmons nodded, “I think there was a guy that was here before … What was his name…” Simmons snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “He was on the heavier side, short, really tan skin?”

“Ah, ya mean Grif.” Sarge huffed, rolling his eyes at the thought of the man. “Yeah, the bastard’s here with the rest of ‘em almost every day.”

Simmons shrugged. “That’s it, I guess. I only really remember the people I met.”

“Makes sense.” A woman’s voice said from behind Wash and Sarge.

Kimball came out form the backroom, wearing a different dress than the day before, but it had a similar color scheme to the one before. “Hello, I’m Vanessa Kimball. You are…?”

Simmons’ throat closed up at the fact that a woman was talking to him, coughing to cover it up. “Uh, Dick Simmons, ma’am.”

“No need to call me ma’am.” Kimball said, brushing off the formalities. “We’ve all already talked, and you can stay around here for the day until you feel well enough to leave. But no alcohol.”

He shrugged. “I don’t like to drink anyways. Donut just kind of forced me to come last night, and Tucker had me taking more and more before I even realized what was happening.”

“That’s Tucker alright.” Wash chuckled.

“Alright dirt-bags, why is everyone still standin’ around?” Sarge spoke up finally, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ve got work to do! Simmons, since you got a little too comfy here last night you can help out by workin’ the counter today. No exceptions!”

*****

Once Simmons got reacquainted with his surroundings, Lopez showed him how to serve behind the counter and what types of liquor they offered. The saloon opened around noon, and it only took a half-hour for the place to become bustling with people, in and out.

For the first few hours, Simmons had to take three breaks in the back to throw up into a pale Sarge had provided. As soon as Donut had gotten word that Simmons was still at the bar, he rushed over as fast as he could. The blonde’s hair had been messy, but his clothes were new and clean. He had a nice long pink coat on, which he insisted was lightish red. 

Simmons’ friend had been more than delighted when the he’d told him about how he had to work there the whole day for crashing there. Donut had stuck around and ordering non-alcoholic drinks every now and then, chatting up a storm.

Later on, when evening came, the afternoon patrons were gone and the evening bustle poured in from a hard day’s work. With them came Tucker, Church, Caboose, and Grif.

Tucker congratulated Simmons on no longer being an alcohol virgin, and gave Wash a peck on the cheek before ordering from Simmons. Church had taken his seat and was yelling at Caboose. Simmons didn’t pay them much attention, but he figured out quickly that it was because he didn’t want Caboose following them to the bar with them.

Grif took a seat in front of Simmons, smiling brightly. “Hey, it’s drunk-guy! You work here now, too?”

Simmons scowled. “Just for today. And my name is Simmons, not drunk-guy.”

Grif chuckled and got a beer from Lopez, who had already known what he’d wanted as soon as the larger man walked in. Grif drank slowly, trying to start up conversation with Simmons.

Donut excused himself when the sun went down, reminding Simmons that his horse was still outside and that he had fed it and taken it out for a walk once. The red-head thanked him before he’d left.

“So you own a ranch… Next to another ranch.” Grif laughed, making Simmons’ face flush from embarrassment. “That’s gotta be kind sucky.”

“As much as ah hate to admit it, the dirtbag’s got a point.” Sarge said as he passed the two of them, bringing four bottles of rum to the other side of the room.

“Well I don’t get a lot of business, sure,” Simmons began in his defense, shaking up a concoction for a man at a nearby bar stool. “But Donut’s good company, and it’s _something_ to earn money off of.”

Grif watched the red-head pass the drink to the other end of the counter, smirking at Simmons when he came back. Grif tipped his hat up. “Whatever floats your boat.”

The rest of the night continued on like that, the others joining in the conversation every now and then. It was getting late, and people were starting to leave. Eventually Carolina came into the saloon, walking over to the counter and hopping up onto it.

“Is he drunk?” Simmons heard her ask Church lowly, looking over at him. Church shook his head, letting out a single mocking laugh.

“Well shit, that’s a first. Usually new people behind the counter don’t belong there.” She hopped down, the length in the back of her dress dragging off when she began to move away. She patted Wash once on the shoulder before sitting on the barstool next to Grif. “So, you new here, kid?”

Grif spoke first. “Nah, Simmons? He just had to repay Sarge for crashing here last night. Can’t con him over today.”

Carolina grimaced, “Damn, and I was only a dollar away from buying that dress in the parlor. I saw the guys looking at it, if I wore that thing I would get even more cash than ever.” She mumbled, turning her attention back to Simmons. She extended her hand to him. “I’m Carolina. And I assume your name is Simmons?”

He shook her hand nervously and nodded. It would take a while for him to get used to all of the female attention he’d been receiving lately.

“Well Simmons,” Carolina reached over to take what was left in Tucker’s glass, chugging it down quickly. When she came back up for air, she sighed. “Welcome to the crew.”

*****

“Simmons, I want ya to consider workin’ here for me. You’d make a great bartender, and it would pay more than the competing ranch ya got now does.” Sarge asked as Simmons mounted his horse.

His eyes widened, stunned. “Gosh sir, I don’t know what to say. I mean, of its okay with you. When would I start?”

“Tomorrow, early mornin’. Think you can manage?” The older man asked.

Simmons smiled. “Absolutely.”

*****

Simmons began working full-time at the bar within the week. Donut had been extremely happy for him, and suggested he turn his ranch into a farm. He could grow crops and have them all for himself, saving even more of the money that he earned. So he did.

During the first few work days, though, there had been two bar fights. 

When the first one happened, Simmons wasn’t quite sure what to do. He’d plastered himself onto the back wall while everyone tossed it out. Grif, Tucker and Kimball had been the only ones he knew there that night. 

Tucker looked more than pleased smashing bottles over other people’s heads. Grif had been in the corner, him and another man Simmons didn’t know duking it out.

Sarge had gotten a kick out of watching that brawl over everything else, but as soon as Grif started winning and someone fired their revolver, he called everything off, Kimball helping him throw out the large amount of people inside. Only one man had died, sprawled in the middle of the floor.

Simmons had freaked, nearly fainting before Sarge said the death count was normally a bit higher than that. He’d debated on quitting for that split moment.

Grif had come to the bar every day afterwards. At first Simmons wasn’t sure he liked the man, always making smart-ass remarks and teasing him constantly. But eventually when Simmons managed to stick up for himself, and they maintained a decent friendship.

A month into Simmons’ job, Tucker started making wise comments about Grif and Simmons acting like an old married couple. The first time Simmons had gotten flustered and activated his denial mode while Grif proceeded to taunt him for it. Eventually both of them learned to tune it out.

Although Simmons couldn’t help but notice that every time anyone, male or female, tried flirting with him or lead him on, Grif would chase them off faster than they could blink.

Most of the time he’d pull two revolvers out of his belt and say something dumb along the lines of, “Like how these babies look from the outside? I bet your insides would like them just as much.” Or simply, “I bet I can fuck you up.” While lowering his hat, which the larger man thought looked threatening.

Simmons asked him why he did it once. Grif had brushed off the question, saying that they looked suspicious. After all, you could never be too careful.

It was one of those nights again. 

Tucker tried to stifle his laughter as the woman Grif had threatened walked out, swaying her hips a bit too exaggeratedly. Grif was glaring daggers towards the back of her head.

Simmons sighed, rolling his eyes as he dried one of their freshly cleaned glasses. When he put it down on the counter, two men walked into the saloon.

One was short, walking with his chin up. He had scarring along his ear, and his head was a mess of auburn hair. The other was taller, with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and a dark expression on his face. He had scarring as well, two marks led across his face forming an ‘x’ shape.

Everyone was sitting at the counter that night, so the two sat at the only open seats at the end of the line. The shorter one was holding the other’s hand as he patted the seat next to him. He then gestured for Simmons to come over.

“Yes, sir?” Simmons said somewhat-nervously. The man was smirking, his eyes narrowed. 

“A simple beer for me, thanks.” He waved his hand, fiddling with his belt that had a revolver exposed on his right.

Simmons nodded, glancing to the other man. “Anything for you, sir…?

“Rum.” He said firmly, looking down at what Simmons assumed was his boyfriend. “Felix, stick to the task at hand.”

“Oh calm down, Locus. We can afford to relax every now and then. Ease up.” Felix said in response, shrugging and planting a kiss on his cheek tauntingly.

Simmons noted both of their names as he got their drinks and placed them in front of them. He went back to the group, Caboose smiling at him brightly when he glanced in his direction.

“Hey,” Wash whispered towards Simmons. The red-head moved over to him across the counter when the older man spoke. Carolina was next to him with a concerned expression on her face. “These guys don’t sit right with me.”

Carolina leaned over to him as well. “Yeah, be careful around them. I think I saw one of them in a street shootout before.”

Simmons gulped nervously, “Okay.” He leaned back, pulling the string on his hat nervously and taking it off. He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Felix grinned over at Simmons from his position at the counter, “Hey, his hair is fuckin’ red! Don’t see that around these parts much.” He chuckled.

Simmons didn’t know what to say in response, stuttering. “Y-yeah.”

“Hey, c’mere.” Felix asked, persuading him over. Even Kimball across the room had worried eyes trained on Simmons, and Grif was just starting to notice what was going on.

Locus rolled his eyes at Felix, sighing as he hunched over in his stool. He kept his eyes on them as Felix spoke, “We’ve got a thing going on a little bit out of town… I guess you could consider it a ‘crime group’. We’ve been looking for new members to recruit. Locus seems to think you might have what it takes. What do you say?” Felix asked quietly, the devilish grin still plastered on his face.

“What?” Simmons shook his head. “No, no way.”

That was when Felix’s smile disappeared. He sighed heavily, leaning back. “I thought you might say that…”

Suddenly Felix stood, his stool tipping over and clattering behind him. He reached up and grabbed a tuft of Simmons’ hair, slamming his head down onto the table.

The red-head cried out from the burst of pain in the side of his head, barely registering the fact that Felix had grabbed him and was trying to heave him over the counter. Simmons kicked and yelled loudly, trying to elbow Felix in his hazy state. He couldn’t seem to aim right, and the latter kept dodging him.

All of a sudden everyone was up, starting another fight. One person across the room punched another man in the face, and people went at it. Everyone associated with Simmons was focused on one thing, though; Felix and Locus.

Grif yanked out his gun, letting out a battle cry before whacking the butt of the revolver into Felix’s skull. Felix stumbled, yelling loudly. Before he was oriented again, Locus took care of Grif for him.

He kicked Grif into the table behind the group, flipping it over as Grif landed painfully on his back. He kneeled on the ground, shaking his head.

Locus was about to move towards Grif again when a high-pitched yell surrounded everyone, and Donut smashed two bottles over Locus’ head. The taller man flinched, but showed no other reaction. Tucker jumped onto his back trying to strangle him, but he couldn’t wrap his arms around his neck correctly. Locus began to flail, making an attempt to throw the smaller man off.

“Get off of me!” Locus roared, and finally Tucker lost his grip. At the same time Caboose rammed into Locus, stunning him. Being twice his strength, Caboose ran him far enough until they were on the deck of the saloon, then in the road. He pushed Locus onto the ground before he ran back inside, terrified. 

Grif came out a moment later with an angry Felix over the shoulder, Carolina and Sarge following him out. As soon as Grif tossed Felix on the ground and went back inside, Carolina kicked Felix’s side with her heel. 

Sarge spat on both of them, “Ah don’t want to see either of ya back at my saloon ever again, ya hear me?!” He roared. “Now scram!”


	2. Part 2

Locus gave a death-glare in Sarge’s direction before picking up an angry Felix, “I can assure you nothing.” He growled before running off with Felix in tow. As soon as they turned the corner, Sarge and Carolina headed back inside.

Once everyone was indoors again, Kimball and Sarge started herding the rest of the patrons out of the saloon. Grif had rushed over to where Simmons was leaning on the counter, one of his boots across the room and blood dripping down his face from where it had hit the rough counter.

“Shit Simmons, are you okay?” Grif asked, helping Simmons sit on one of the stools. He brushed some of the hair away from the red-head’s forehead to get a closer look at the cut.

“Mhm…” Simmons mumbled, holding his throbbing head. He winced when his fingertips grazed the edge of his injury, leaning back onto the counter.

“Dammit. Dammit, I knew those guys were bad news!” Wash hissed, kicking a chair over in anger. “Donut, go get some cloth for Simmons’ head and help Grif.” 

The blonde nodded frantically, escaping into the backroom. Grif had taken one of the washcloths from the water pale and tried to clean up Simmons’ wounds despite Simmons’ pain-filled sounds and groans whenever Grif glossed over the cut. His mind kept drifting back to Locus and Felix; whether they’d come back or not.

Donut was by Grif’s side in an instant, helping him wrap up Simmons’ head the best they could. When they were done, Grif took one of Simmons’ arms and threw it over his shoulder. “I’m gonna let him crash at my place since it’s just down the road, and riding a horse isn’t the best idea. Donut, can you take Simmons’ horse home for him?”

Donut nodded, walking out with a drained posture, “Night, guys.” He sighed as he pushed open the front doors. A few moments later the sound of hooves marching away could be heard outside, and he was gone.

Grif left next with Simmons in tow. The red head was groaning in pain, but he did his best to stifle them as to not bother Grif on the way to his house.

As soon as they were indoors again, Grif kicked the front door to his house shut and helped Simmons over to his bedroom. He let Simmons lay down on the bed, kicking off his boots and dropping his hat, “You can sleep on the left side of the bed.” Grif mumbled, throwing a stray shirt into the corner.

Simmons closed his eyes, “Your room is really messy, Grif. I expected no less.” He said quietly, grunting.

“Heh. Yeah. I’ll go get you something for your head.” The larger man said, leaving the room for a moment before coming back with a cold beer bottle. He held it out to the red-head. “Here. It’s the best thing I could find.”

Simmons took it gratefully, wincing as he held it over the bandaging, “Thank you.” He said gratefully, his voice barely a whisper.

Grif shifted in place for a moment, taking his hat off and placing it on a table across the room before looking back at Simmons. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Simmons opened his eyes a crack, glancing over at Grif. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

Grif groaned tiredly, sitting down on the other side of the sheets as he pulled off his pants to get ready for bed. Simmons flushed, looking away. He tried to cover it up to the best of his ability, but Grif noticed nonetheless.

The larger man looked down, unsure of what to say, “Hey Simmons…?” He asked, turning to face his comrade. “Do you remember what you said to me the first time we met?”

“What, when I was drunk?” Simmons croaked. “No, I don’t remember much from that night. Why?”

Grif shook his head, flopping down onto the other end of the bed, “Nothing. Night, Simmons.” He said, blowing out the lamp next to him.

The red-head didn’t want to just let Grif’s question drop that easy, but he didn’t really have any other choice given how tired they both were. Simmons pressed the bottle back onto his head. “Night, Grif.”

*****

Simmons held the gun in his hands, staring at it with amazement. Although he had to admit, having it rest in his palms was a bit terrifying. “You’re sure you don’t need it? I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to have this here.”

Grif shrugged lazily, “Sarge and Lopez always have one on them, they just keep theirs hidden in their clothes. Besides, you’ll probably need one for all of the bar fights that happen here. It’ll gain everyone’s attention.” He reasoned.

Simmons nodded, latching the gun onto the side of his belt. He proceeded to carry out two requests for water, turning back to Grif. “Don’t you have anything to do today?”

“Nope. I’m free the whole week. Besides, _someone_ needs to watch your pasty ass in case you faint.” Grif teased, making the red-head scowl.

The rest of the afternoon dragged on slowly; only a few people wandered in and out at random times. Grif stayed at the bar the whole day with Simmons. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was genuinely concerned for the red-head’s health after the previous day’s brawl. If Locus and Felix came back, he wanted to make sure he was there for it.

Just before the evening rush came in, Kimball stopped by. She wanted to make sure that Simmons was okay before joining in on the conversation. Both Grif and Simmons were grateful for the new distraction.

“Donut’s not coming later. He struck a business deal with one of the town merchants about an old candle glass; he said he’d be there all day with the other potential buyers.” Simmons said, placing a dried glass under the counter. 

“I believe that Church and Caboose went to the farms for the day; they probably won’t be here either. But Carolina’s coming. She’s low on cash.” Kimball stated uninterestedly, sipping on her water.

Grif snorted beside them, “Looks like everyone’s busy today. Tucker and Wash are gone. Tucker said something about him and Wash ‘trying something new tonight’. I didn’t stick around long after that to find out what.” He made a disgusted face at the thoughts that followed.

As if she had heard herself mentioned in conversation, the front doors of the saloon opened and Carolina walked in, swinging her hips deliberately and getting the attention of several men nearby. 

Grinning, she leaned over the counter to the trio, “I swear my job here is too easy.” She said slyly, turning her attention towards Simmons. “Hey, Simmons. How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” The red-head replied, feeling dizzy. He brushed it off as the attention of a female, shaking his head.

Carolina nodded, patting Kimball on the shoulder, “Well I’m going to be around that table over there for most of the night I guess,” She pointed to a table of men looking at her, their eyes clouded with lust. “Call me over if you need me.”

Simmons, not paying much attention to the conversation, pulled out a platter and placed two specials onto it, “Hey Carolina, can you bring this…?” He began, but realized that she was already sitting on the lap of one of the men across the room. Sighing, he opened the counter and passed by with the platter to bring it over himself. Just as Simmons was halfway to the table his legs froze, eyes widening.

Grif noticed Simmons’ stance, frowning. “You okay there, Simmons…?”

The red-head dropped the platter, collapsing onto the hardwood floor. Grif cursed loudly, jumping off of his seat in favor of helping Simmons.

“Simmons? Simmons!” Grif growled, trying to shake the unconscious man awake. Kimball dropped to her knees at his side, deep concern written across her features. Underneath Simmons’ bandaging, blood leaked out of the open wound.

Suddenly Simmons jolted awake, panting heavily on the floor. He took a moment to get oriented again, realizing that Kimball and Grif were talking above him.

“What happened?” Simmons asked, sitting up. He groaned from the pain throbbing in his skull. 

“You passed out, idiot.” Grif snapped, sliding away when Lopez walked over with a glass of water. 

Simmons took it gratefully, taking a long gulp before standing on wobbly legs. Lopez huffed, moving back behind the counter. “Mierda, el día después de una lesión en la cabeza de trabajo.” _[Dumbass, working the day after a head injury.]_

Sarge walked out from the backroom, looking over to Simmons in the center of the room. He cleared his throat, “Grif, get Simmons’ bandagin’ changed. He shouldn’t have been workin’ today.” The older man tossed a roll of thin cloth over at him.

Grif caught it and nodded, propping Simmons up onto one of the bar stools. He unraveled the dirty bandaging around Simmons’ head as carefully as he could.

“Thanks, Grif.” Simmons mumbled.

“Yeah yeah, just shut up and let me work, nerd.” Grif huffed, wrapping Simmons’ head back up.

“Asshole.”

*****

The next few days of work passed by quickly. Grif insisted that Simmons relax and take the day off each time he went back in. Every time the red-head refused, repeating that he was fine. 

The others had come in the next day, almost everyone asking if Simmons was okay to some degree. Donut had cried with happiness when he was informed that his friend was fine, almost choking him in a back-breaking hug. 

The fifth night after the fight, Sarge had closed up shop earlier than usual. He said he was working on a project that would change the world of bodily health forever. Simmons couldn’t help but have doubts about the man’s theory. 

When Simmons had gotten ready to leave, Grif had been sitting on the bottom step of the saloon, a large amount of unopened beer bottles scattered on the ground around him. He invited the red-head to sit for a while and have a few drinks.

Halfway through his first beer, Simmons began telling storied to idiotic things customers did when Grif wasn’t around.

“Okay, okay,” Grif laughed, putting his bottle down on the step beside him. “But I swear, one dude had tried undoing Carolina’s corset when she had her back turned, and _that_ did not end well. Two black eyes and a bruised jaw!”

Simmons laughed, taking another swig of his beer, “Alright, I bet I can beat that.” He laughed. “Once a dude came in and asked if he was at the whore-house to _Caboose_. We hadn’t even given him anything and he was completely wasted!”

“Damn, Caboose of all people? I bet he was confused as hell.” Grif chocked back another fit of giggles.

“He sure was. Later on he leaned over and asked if he could buy service from me for a single, dirty penny. He was still convinced everyone around him was a prostitute. When I said no he threw a 5-year-old equivalent of a temper-tantrum and ran out.” Simmons shook his head, trying to calm himself down.

When he looked back over at Grif, the other man wasn’t smiling or laughing. He was looking straight at the dirt road with a stern look on his face, “Heh. Um…” Simmons’ smile faltered as well. He tilted his head. “Is everything okay?”

It took a moment, but Grif finally looked back over at him, “Simmons, do you… Are you sure you don’t remember _anything_ that happened your first night here?” His voice was quiet.

It took Simmons a moment to process what he had asked, shaking his head, “No, I don’t.” He said honestly. “Grif, is there something that happened that I really should’ve remembered? Did I do something embarrassing…?” 

Grif didn’t respond, instead turning his attention back to the empty dirt road in front of them.

“Grif?” Simmons prodded again, growing frustrated. Why did Grif keep bringing his first night at the saloon up?

When Simmons didn’t get a response for a full minute, he let out a frustrated sound and chugged down the rest of his beer. The red-head threw it across the deck, “Well then goodnight, Grif.” He growled through clenched teeth.

He was about to stand when Grif grabbed his shoulder, twisting him around and capturing his lips with his own.

Simmons’ eyes widened, unable to process what was going on. After a moment he regained his senses, unsure of what he was supposed to do. So he pressed just a bit closer to Grif, taking in the feeling of his first kiss.

Grif pulled away, inspecting Simmons’ face. “Was that… Okay?”

The red-head blinked before slowly nodding.

Grif noticed that Simmons’ eyes began to water, on the verge of tears. He was about to ask what was wrong when Simmons blinked them away and quickly pulled Grif forward into a tight hug.

This time it was Grif‘s turn to be confused. He gently wrapped his arms around the lanky man’s waist. “Uh, Simmons? You okay there?”

Simmons pulled away, nodding once again, “Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just…” He bit his lip, adjusting his hat. “Thank you. For… For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

A smile curled at the corner of Grif’s lips, and he quickly gave Simmons another kiss, this one gentler than the first. “You’re welcome.”

*****

Simmons woke up the next morning curled up with his head on Grif’s stomach. Although he’d been a bit awkward about it at first, both of them talked about the night before. They were unsure of how to announce their relationship to the rest of the group, so they decided to just let happen naturally.

The first person to figure out what was going on was Tucker, a week later. He’d wanted to come to the saloon earlier in the day to tell Carolina about something Church said involving her. When he’d walked in he witnessed Grif giving a quick peck on Simmons’ cheek as the latter cleaned off one of the tables.

Of course he had told as many people as he could. Soon after Donut marched in, demanding to see the evidence himself. Simmons had flushed bright red, stating that he wouldn’t do something like that just for Donut’s satisfaction. He was about to ramble on about it being rude and disrespectful when Grif rolled his eyes, leaning up and shutting him up with a long, wet kiss. 

Donut had squealed like a pig.

Overall Simmons’ mood increased with the following weeks, happily humming classic piano tunes while he cleaned out rows of glasses. 

It was almost sundown when Carolina burst in through the front entrance, an angry grimace on her face. “Hey, remember that Felix guy from a while back? I’m not one-hundred percent sure, but I think I saw him outside.”

“What?” Simmons asked nervously, his face paling visibly.

Grif and Church both pulled out their guns, following Carolina outside. There was a mess of people wandering about, walking on both sides of the street while a few on horses and carriages took up the road’s center.

Church squinted far into the crowd of people from their position in the middle of the street; his eyes widened, “Shit!” He yelled, pulling out his second gun.

Locus appeared in the crowd with a shotgun in hand, firing at the group. Church shrieked, almost running into Simmons as he tried to get back into the saloon.

The red-head ran outside with his borrowed revolver, locking eyes with Locus before trying to fire at him with Grif and Carolina.

Felix showed up by his boyfriend’s side a moment later, both of them taking aim on the three at the other end of the road. No one got any lucky shots; until Locus ran forward and aimed towards Simmons.

The heavy bullet bit into the lower half of Simmons’ left leg. The red-head stumbled, collapsing onto the dirt road. He tried to get a few shots into the other man before the gun was kicked out of his grip by Felix.

Carolina yelled loudly, throwing a punch towards Felix. When he dodged the throw, she aimed her gun at his head and fired, the shorter man ducking away at the last second.

He leaped onto her and grabbed her arm, trying to force the gun away. He grunted as she rammed her heel into his foot, letting go. It took him a moment to throw a punch towards her chest and finally get the gun away.

Locus stood above Simmons, his shotgun aimed at his head. The red-head felt woozy and tired from the blood loss, looking up to the terrifying man and shielding his face. “Please don’t…”

Locus was a second from pulling the trigger when a knife lodged itself in his upper shoulder. He gasped, turning towards Tucker on the deck of the saloon, “Just _die!_ ” He yelled, yanking it out and shooting a bullet towards the saloon. Tucker ducked as the wood beside him splintered, dropping one of the two knives still in his grip.

Tucker threw the remaining knife carelessly, grazing Locus’ arm. The older man hissed, running over to Felix and grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

Felix yelped as he was dragged away by his boyfriend. Locus huffed. “We’ll come back when we’re well-armed.” 

“Yeah, you better run!” Carolina screeched, turning her attention toward Grif. He was helping Simmons off of the ground, blood oozing from his leg where Locus’ bullet had lodged itself into his skin.

“How come no one else ever gets injured around here…?” Simmons slurred as Sarge ran out to help him. “Fucking bullshit…”

As soon as Grif and Donut heaved Simmons up onto one of the empty tables, Sarge ran into the back room. Kimball made her way over to the group clustered around Simmons. Pushing her way through, she made it to the red-head and began to inspect the wound. It was deep, and the bullet had left a huge gaping hole just a little bit below Simmons’ knee.

Simmons squeezed his eyes shut as Kimball’s hands opened the wound further. She pulled her hands back, apologizing quickly before clearing her throat. “I’m certain that the bone is shattered; it went right through the center of his leg. I don’t know what we’re going to do about this…”

“I do.” Sarge said across the room, holding his hands behind his back near the counter. “Now everyone move out of the way. It’s best to do this quickly and efficiently; the bullet could have had some form of poison in it for all we know.”

“Sarge…?” Simmons questioned, his eyes droopy.

The older man shook his head. “I’m sorry, Simmons. You might want to close your eyes.”

The red-head gave him a look of puzzlement as the older man marched over to Simmons, pulling out a large axe from behind his back. The red-head’s eyes widened, and he hardly sucked in a breath as Sarge swung down and cut his lower leg clean off.

*****

“Well, how I see it you have two options; you either……….Risk them coming after Simmons again.”

“Obviously we have………. He’s already been through too much shit.”

“Creo que él se está despertando ahora.” _[I think he’s waking up now.]_

“Lopez for the millionth time, I don’t speak Spanish! Oh hey, I think Simmons is waking up.”

“Jódete.” _[Fuck you]_

Simmons whimpered, opening his eyes and looking around at all of the faces that surrounded him. Everyone seemed to be there. Upon closer inspection, Simmons noticed they weren’t in the saloon anymore.

“What the fuck…” Simmons cursed, rubbing his face with his hands. “Everything fucking hurts…”

He saw Donut sigh beside him. “Well duh, Sarge _did_ chop off your leg like, three days ago.”

As soon as Donut’s words sunk in Simmons jolted up, panting. He looked down at his stump of a leg, wrapped up in bloodied bandaging. Breathing heavily, Simmons slammed his fist into the bedrail behind him, “Fuck!” He yelled at the ceiling, making everyone around him jump.

“Look, can I talk to him alone for a few minutes guys?” Grif asked quietly. There were still things that Simmons needed to be caught up on, and he didn’t want him to be overwhelmed with people when he broke the news.

Everyone began to file out of the room, leaving them be. Simmons could finally fully observe his surroundings; they were in Grif’s house. He shook his head tiredly, “What the fuck is going on, Grif?” His voice had a defeated edge to it.

Grif shifted around and took a seat next to the bed. He folded his hands over the sheets, “Locus shattered your leg, so Sarge amputated it.” Grif began.

“I remember.” The red-head sighed, bringing up a hand to hold his head. “Look, let’s stop beating around the bush here. Tell me exactly what’s going on. I heard you and Wash talking before.”

Composing himself, Grif sat straighter in his chair, “Felix and Locus want to have a shoot-off against me and Carolina. As he put it in his message, ‘Kill you motherfuckers and settle this.’ And…” The larger man looked down, his finger twitching.

Simmons’ eyes narrowed. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me that you guys are gonna do it.”

Grif looked up angrily. “We have to! Carolina’s already cool with it, and it’ll protect everyone in the saloon! More importantly, you!”

“Oh, don’t give me that ‘I have to protect you’ bullshit!” Simmons growled, feeling his own anger flare up. “I can take care of myself. Sure, I haven’t had a lucky streak recently, but I know how to handle myself! Y’know, being your boyfriend is a hell of a lot easier if you’re _alive_.”

Grif stood up from his chair, fists clenching by his sides. “So what, you don’t think I can do it?”

Simmons folded his hands over his lap, his right eye twitching. “Don’t you get it at all? They’re insane. They’ll _kill you!_ ”

The larger man decided he’d had enough, slamming his hand into the wall and rushing out of the room. He knew that an argument was the last thing Simmons needed in his condition, but he couldn’t help it. He was doing what was right; why didn’t Simmons understand that?!

Tucker was about to ask him what happened when everyone heard a quiet sob from the bedroom. 

Grif felt the anger draining from him at the pained sound. Even though he felt a twinge of sympathy for the red-head, he still needed to get outside. Anywhere that was away from the people staring at him. Always staring.

He had always been great at fucking things up.

*****

It was dark outside, the full moon high in the sky. Grif finally came back inside after walking around the whole day to clear his head. Everyone was gone, with the exception of Donut. Grif saw him quietly talking to Simmons, who was lying with his head to the side.

Grif gently knocked on the edge of the door to get Donut’s attention. The blonde looked over to him and stood. He whispered something to Simmons before grabbing his satchel and leaving. He nodded to Grif as he passed by.

Grif sighed heavily, taking off his hat and placing it on the table next to the bed. He dragged Donut’s chair over and sat next to Simmons, his head still turned away from him.

“Simmons?” Grif asked quietly. He was only a little disappointed when he didn’t get a response. “Simmons, I’m here to listen to you now. I’m sorry; I was an ass earlier, I didn’t even consider your opinion. I just… Look, I’m an idiot, okay? I’m a dumbass, a prick, you name it, it’s me.”

The red-head still didn’t respond, but he tilted his head over so he was facing Grif. His face was tear-stained, eyes tinged red.

“Simmons…” Grif sighed, moving to take Simmons hand in his own. The red-head didn’t pull away; that was a start.

Grif sighed, “...Okay. You need to rest, anyway.” When he tried to pull his hand away Simmons’ fingers curled around his wrist, keeping him in place. He still didn’t say anything, but he was looking up at Grif pleadingly.

The larger man nodded, circling the bed to come to rest beside Simmons. Grif didn’t cuddle up to him since his leg was extremely sensitive, instead leaning his arm out for Simmons to use as a pillow. They both feel asleep soon after.

****

“Remember, you don’t have to land a fatality shot; as long as you manage to shoot him, we’re all set.” Carolina said sternly, loading a bullet into the revolver and handing it to Grif.

He nodded, putting it into his back pocket. No one had known when Felix and Locus would show up to fight originally. It had been two weeks since they’d gotten the original message; another had come in to meet the two in the center of town around high noon. Wash and Sarge had both been annoyed by the cliché. Everyone seemed to want to fight at noon.

Carolina held her chin up, gun in hand when Felix and Locus showed up. Some people lined the sides of the road in anticipation. The entire crew was standing on the deck of the saloon, stern expressions on their faces. Simmons was there too, leaning on a crutch Sarge had created to help him stand when he needed to.

Grif and Simmons previously had an extremely long debate over the last two weeks about what Grif and Carolina were going to do. When Simmons realized Grif wasn’t going to be budged easily on the subject, he resorted to keeping his talking around Grif to a minimum.

“So, you’ve chose to take a stand.” Locus mumbled across to Carolina.

“Cut the shit, Locus. We just want you two to leave us- and everyone else- alone.” Carolina spat, raising her gun. “It’s not too late to turn back now, you know.”

Felix frowned, glancing over to Grif. His hand was shaking as he clutched the gun in his hand tightly. Felix looked back up and smirked. “As if.”

In a flurry of motion, Felix yanked out a second revolver and began to fire at Carolina as he made his way slowly across the road. Locus ran to the side and tried firing a few shots towards Grif.

The larger man yelped as a bullet grazed his cheek. When Grif felt blood leak down his cheek, he growled in annoyance and tried to shoot Locus back. 

Felix had gotten close enough to Carolina that he was making attempts to stun her with his fists. Every time she saw his fist fly forward, she would back away for another clear shot at the shorter man. 

When Felix raised his hand and swung again, Carolina took advantage of the opportunity given to her. She grabbed Felix’s wrist mid-swing and flipped him over, his back slamming down onto the ground. 

Carolina heard Locus and Grif’s grunts behind her, unconcerned at the moment and choosing to take aim at the bruised man below her. Felix looked up when he saw the barrel of her gun and grinned. He took hold of her ankle, pulling her down onto the dusty ground below. 

The left arm on Grif’s jacket had a hole in it from where another bullet had skimmed over his flesh. He could tell Locus was getting irritated by all of the misses and in all honesty, Grif was too. 

Locus came out of his cover once more, firing three shots before charging towards him. Grif’s eyes widened as he was tackled onto the ground, a fist colliding with his jaw.

Carolina looked up from her position on the ground when she heard Grif’s cursing and the sound of Locus’ fist colliding with flesh. The distraction gave Felix a moment to gain his senses, pinning her down onto the ground.

Grif nailed his knee into Locus’ chest, knocking him away as he reached for his gun again. Locus breathed heavily, loading another round into his shotgun. 

The sound of a bullet hitting flesh made everyone freeze. 

Grif and Locus looked over towards Felix and Carolina. Carolina stood up once more and aimed her gun at Felix, who placed his hand on his arm, “You think a small bullet wound in enough to stop me?” Felix laughed, yanking three knives out of his belt buckle.

Carolina held a smirk of her own, “Yes, I do.” She laughed, throwing her gun away and clenching her fists at her sides.

Felix shook his head in amusement, raising the knives in his grip. He froze, pupils dilating before he dropped to his knees. The shorter man choked on his breath, dry-heaving before collapsing onto the ground altogether. 

“Poisonous bullets usually do the trick.” Carolina smirked wickedly. She noticed Locus slowly approaching, and raised her fists in defense. One down, one to go.

Locus ignored her, moving over Felix and cradling his body in his strong arms. His expression was hollow as he stood back up, walking away from the group and the citizens. Everyone around them began cheering and clapping their hands.

“Hey!” Both Carolina and Grif yelled, raising their weaponry. Wash ran out to them, putting a hand on each of their shoulders, “No, let him go. He’s not coming back.” He sighed, shaking Grif’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you two cleaned up.”

Grif let out a long breath, nodding before following Wash over to the saloon. It was then that he looked up at Simmons. The red-head’s eyes were watery as he pulled his hat further down onto his head.

Grif approached him, looking down at the wooden deck, “Simmons, I need to-” He began, but was cut off by Simmons’ fist connecting with his nose.

“Ow, fuck!” He cursed, rubbing the affected area. It hurt like hell, but Grif didn’t think that it was hard enough to have broken it. Simmons had held back. “Okay, I deserved that.”

Simmons shook his head, leaning forward and enveloping Grif in a tight hug. Grif was confused for a moment, but quickly understood what Simmons was feeling. He wrapped his arms around Simmons and buried his face in the red-head’s shoulder.

They stood there like that for a few moments, a few drops of blood dripping onto Simmons’ shoulder from Grif’s cheek, “I want to go home, Grif.” Simmons mumbled.

Grif nodded, pulling away. He ran his hands down Simmons’ arms before walking off the deck to get his horse at the side the saloon. Soon after Grif had helped Simmons onto the horse and made sure he was balanced, they rode towards Simmons’ house.

“Hey, Simmons?” Grif asked quietly, clutching Simmons’ waist in front of him tightly. The red-head grunted in response, letting him continue. 

“When you came to the bar on the first night you told me you thought you were in love with me.” He mumbled, laughing quietly at the memory of a drunken Simmons, stumbling around like a moron. “You were actually kinda cute at the time when you face-planted on the floor.”

Simmons groaned. “I am never letting myself get that wasted around you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I had to separate it into two parts; it was supposed to be one part initially, but suddenly I was typing up a lot more than I had initially anticipated and had to come up with a way to even out the story without making it seem like a _really_ long one-shot so- here it is. 
> 
> I've been noticing lately that my obsession with history is slowly but surely seeping its way into my writing. So a side note for any future fictions I may write; it's probably gonna involve a lot of older stuff.


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